Tattered Threads
by SassyMuse
Summary: For Lucius and Narcissa, the path to marriage, and life after, was not a happy one. Rather it involved lies, murder, madness and betrayal. Warning: slash, non-con, disturbing themes.
1. Split Apart

Title: Tattered Threads

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JKR and Warner Bros. No money was made from writing this.

Summary: For Lucius and Narcissa, the path to marriage, and life after, was not a happy one. Rather it involved lies, murder, madness and betrayal.

** Warning:** **slash, **and for later chapters:** non-con and disturbing themes.**

–

_At the centre of the circular expanse of smooth turf surrounded by sycamore trees, the four-tiered fountain burbled cool water. _

_Fish darted through the clear water in the broad bowl at the bottom, their striking green and gold markings flashing in the glittering sunlight. _

_The animals were little more than circulating ornaments distorted the reflection of the adolescent girl running past._

_She look like one of the wild fae: her flaxen hair, woven with flowers, streamed behind her, petals falling, as she fled across the chateau grounds. The sun glinted off the gossamer material of her swirling, light yellow robes._

_She barely noticed the scenery changing as she bolted through the break in the trees. Her focus was on the muffled beat of the footfalls on the grass following her._

_The man pursued her, through the vast spaces between the broad-trunked deciduous trees, past the stone statues and round shaped hedges, following the trail of forgotten petals. _

_Her feet sounded staccato on the gravel as she scurried along the path flanked by slim cypresses._

_Her hunter sprinted and soared over the vibrant bedded flowers, surged across the rich green grass and up the gravel path._

_Her slipper-clad foot stuttered over the loose stones, stumbling, she quickly regained her balance, but her pursuer had gained ground and was now just behind her. _

_The man snatched at the silver lace embellishing her cascading gown, crushing the silk threads, he tugged – she slipped, fell- _

–

He woke.

His eyes slowly refocused after his dreamless sleep. He sleepily shifted his tangled black hair, marring his view.

They lay entwined among the sheets. He lazily drifted his potion-stained fingers, caressing along and down the other's forearm, avoiding the snake and skull tattoo that matched his own, until the limb shifted, as Lucius sat up and turned to his lover.

Severus withdrew his hand and waited.

"I need to tell you…" Lucius looked away clenching his jaw and his hand fisted in the sheets. Severus rested his hand on older man's, and lightly squeezed.

Lucius took a steadying breath, "I'm to be engaged to-"

Severus snatched his hand back as if burned, quickly sitting up.

Lucius moved across the bed, one hand extended toward the other man. "Severus-"

"Don't touch me!"

"Will you not let me explain, Severus?"

"I-I don't think so," Severus said in what meant to be a cold, disdainful tone. Unfortunately, to his horror, his voice shook.

_How could I be so_ _**foolish**_? Severus thought in desperation through his shock, he slid to the edge of the bed and felt a small tingling spot on the inside of his left thigh, where, before, Lucius had bitten him.

Severus ruthlessly slapped the site, to kill the feeling and began to get dressed; his clothes were in a folded pile on the chair next to the bed.

"Severus," Lucius said quietly, looking at the tensed and scared back.

Lucius felt the familiar twinge of guilt at seeing those twisted pink scars littering the skin, for he was the cause of them, and he was relieved when Severus' starched white shirt covered them.

Severus had lied and taken what was rightly Lucius' punishment for the failing their task.

Their Lord was not forgiving.

Lucius could vividly recall the flashes of light against his closed eyelids and the sound of splitting flesh and stifled screams.

Lucius shook away his disturbing reverie to see that Severus had ignored him and was almost dressed.

"Severus…"

Fumbling with his shaking hands, Severus – _naïve_ – tied his shoelaces, linen trousers scratching at his wrists – _imbecile_ – while he continued to condemn himself in his thoughts.

"You must understand..?"

Severus' black hair crackled with residual static from having had the black woolen vest pulled over his head, and he slapped his hands at the floating strands irritably, this is why he hated washing his hair.

"Severus, please..."

Severus stood and absentmindedly smoothed down his robes … something was missing.

_I have to get out of here,_ that was the only half-coherent thought in Severus' head and he clung to it as he turned to search for his wand.

"I love you-"

"Liar!" Severus screamed, wand forgotten, he grabbed the water pitcher on the bedside table and hurled it. Lucius ducked and it crashed against the wall in an explosion of water and rebounding splinters, three shards scored across Lucius face splitting his cheek open. It looked as if a jilted lover had scratched his face.

_How appropriate, _Severus thought dully.

Severus' head felt odd – fuzzy and broken in places – as he circled to the door and watched Lucius' face darken.

Lucius stood up, "Listen to me!" He brought his fist crashing down with a _**bang**_ against the post of the bed, causing Severus step to falter over the loose rug before the fire, sprawling to one knee next to Lucius' scattered clothing-

The older man stalked across the room.

Severus jerked his head up, and caught a glimpse of a naked Lucius towering over him, between him and the door. With Lucius' disheveled blond hair, his face unshaven, and the livid, raw and bleeding scratch marks down his cheek, he look like a Viking raider, obsessed with rape and destruction.

Severus lurched up and backed away, unaware that he was moving, until his legs hit the edge of the bed.

Severus lost his balance and sat down.

The floorboard creaked as Lucius made to follow, but halted at the loud commotion that filtered through the door – Severus' act of ceramic murder must have killed the silencing charm and their shouting had disturbed the other guests.

Severus glanced away and saw his wand; it was lost amongst the bedclothes.

Severus kept wary look out for Lucius, out of the corner of his eye, as he scrabbled about the sheets; from them there was the faint musky scent of the two of them and of their pleasure.

He plucked his wand from its resting place as he saw Lucius' shadow, cast by the flicking firelight, dart past-

Severus quickly fished Lucius wand from beneath the pillow – it sparked against his fingers – he turned and pointed his own wand at Lucius-

The other man stumbled back, a foot away from the birch wand, as Severus uttered a single word "Stop."

"Damn it, Severus," Lucius said.

"I want you to leave," the brunet man said in an unwavering tone.

Severus swallowed as Lucius bent to put on his scattered clothing in jerky motions.

The hand holding Lucius' wand was shaking, prickling sparks bit into Severus' palm, but he ignored it and tightened his grip on his own wand.

Meanwhile, the bellow telling them to keep it down had provoked reactionary shouts from the other inhabitants of the inn causing a raucous row that now spanned three floors of the establishment.

Lucius was barefoot dressed in his shirt and slacks, his white robes were left hanging on the hook of door, his spare wand undrawn from its cane despite being threatened, he wished to placate his lover, but he would not leave the room as ordered. "I will not leave until you let me explain," he said coolly.

"What is there to explain?" Severus demanded furiously. "You're going to be married! What else is there?"

"Our relationship means nothing to you?" Lucius glared at Severus, eyes narrowed.

Severus snorted in derision; he was not the one who was espoused.

"Fine, give me your worthless excuses." Severus lowered his arm and he felt suddenly tired and weary, as if his emotions had burnt out and that had drained his energy away.

The hand holding the stolen wand was stinging and he placed Lucius' wand on the bed behind him and then clenched the trembling hand, a few blood-drops stuttered and fell to the floor.

Lucius' throat muscles moved as he swallowed, controlling himself enough to speak, again.

"I will be betrothed through a marriage contract that was begun by my father and the patriarch of the bride's family-"

"But your father died from dragon pox nearly a year ago." Severus interrupted, his black eyes narrowed sharply as his brow furrowed.

"My father's wish, for a marriage between the families, was made known to the girl's parents sometime after her birth, I understand she is a few years younger than me as is the usual custom," Lucius carried on as if uninterrupted. "I've been in a betrothal negotiation since the reading of my father's will-"

"You have...?"

"I-"

"You didn't tell me, you _lied_ to me, you made me think…" Severus faltered.

"I couldn't tell you." Lucius explained.

"You despicable coward."

"I still want you-"

"I won't be your whore." Severus said viciously.

"No, that's not-" Lucius started to say but broke off as Severus stood up making his way to the door, his wand clutched tight in his fist.

"You aren't going anywhere," Lucius said and made to grab Severus.

The younger man spun on the spot and jabbed his wand at Lucius. Orange sparks leapt from the birch point and cut the skin between the blond man's collarbones and crimson bloomed on the man's expensive white shirt, like red chrysanthemums falling in snow.

"You can't stop me," Severus said with a sneer and a brutally cruel look in his eyes.

Lucius was stunned for a moment – the sting from the cut vaguely registered – as that look was directed at him, which in the past had been reserved for those awful marauders and Severus' _worthless_ excuse of a father.

The slammed door brought Lucius back to awareness.

Severus was gone.

"I couldn't tell you, because I was afraid you would leave me," Lucius whispered to the empty room.


	2. Interlude: Past Events

In the silver-birch arbour, sitting cross-legged on the high backed bench was a young woman. Braiding the weathered trellis panels behind and on either side of her were climbing vines bearing white clematis flowers, that obscured watching eyes.

Beside Andromeda's crisscrossed legs was a lap desk made of rosewood – the last gift she had received from her late mother – containing her ink pot, quill and a piece of parchment that had just 'Dear Edward' written upon it.

Andromeda looked down at the unfinished letter and bit her lip. There was no going back now. She unconsciously fiddled with the disillusioned gold ring hanging from a silver chain around her neck. She had to tell him.

Andromeda had been relieved when Walburga had disowned her oldest son despite the overwhelming shame caused to the Black family as the marriage contract that wed Andromeda to Sirius had been dissolved.

Andromeda had escaped the fate of her older sister.

Andromeda's older sister had always been strong and insular but she changed after she was forced into getting married to Rodolphus.

Bella developed a hard and cruel edge; her comments were sharp and twisted. She started to look distorted and wrong somehow, the ugliness of her decaying soul seemed to ooze up from within her. And strangely, she kept her arms covered all the time. On Bellatrix's previous visit, Andromeda had felt the sinister and oily magic weeping from her sister's skin and Andromeda had had to repress her disgusted and nervous shudders.

Andromeda had naively believed that there would not be an arranged marriage for her. However, Andromeda had discovered from her house elf, Bessie, that her father, Cygnus, was setting up another marriage contract. Andromeda was to be wed to her fifteen-year-old cousin, Regulus.

Andromeda's father loved to act like the grand puppet master, pulling various strings, from his self-imposed exile, in Russia. To Cygnus she was just another toy dancing at his tune for his own amusement. He delighted in the power of controlling others because he had none for himself, since the imprisonment of the Dark Lord Grindelwald.

Andromeda was distracted by the sound of a scream and jerked her head towards it, the bench creaked with her sudden movement – covering a wheezed gasp behind the trellis.

She caught sight of her beloved fourteen-year-old sister, Narcissa laughing as she ran across the chateau grounds, Regulus a few paces behind her.

Andromeda lightly smiled as dark strands of her long and winding hair lazily drifted in the summer breeze. Even, if she wasn't in love with her Ted, she could never marry Regulus. Andromeda saw the way Regulus and Narcissa interacted with each other and it was only matter of time before they realized they were in love.

Andromeda deeply cared for her younger sister. Ever since their mother had died in childbirth and her baby, their brother had died with her, Andromeda had become like a mother to Narcissa.

Lost in thought, she unconsciously smoothed her hand over the rounded curve of her stomach, hidden by her robes

Wrinkled eyes flashed in glee as they stared through the vines with white flowers.

In regards to their older sister, well, Bellatrix had not been and was certainly not now the mothering type.

Andromeda's hand stilled and pressed against her stomach. Her strategy was a gamble but hopefully one that would pay off. Her unborn baby was her insurance that she could marry Edward, as her father would never allow a bastard to be born in the family.

She returned her attention to the letter with renewed determination, as the decrepit spy continued to watch her for his master.

–

The old house elf, Ratchet, loyal to Andromeda's father informed him of her ploy. It would be Ratchet's last act as he died soon after. Bessie had secretly poisoned his food.

Bessie looked after her mistress. Bessie was too late to save her mistress from her fate. But, Bessie would have her vengeance on her mistress' behalf. Bessie was a good house elf.

Andromeda was disowned and cast out of the house. She could take nothing with her – only her wand and the clothes she was wearing as her other possessions were burned.

Although, her house-elf appeared later. There had been a stubborn gleam in Bessie's eyes as the house elf carried in the slightly singed lap desk into the tiny flat Andromeda shared with Ted.

Andromeda's house elf stayed with her from that moment on.

Andromeda would never see Narcissa again.


	3. Sight, Spies and Lies

Lucius was travelling in a carriage, its style and bearing reminiscent of the ones at Hogwarts. However, it was drawn by a pair of silver-haired Arabian horses. Lucius was attending a gala that evening, it was considered in Europe to be the event of the season.

The host's societal success was due, in part, to his wife, Alexandrea, whom he married by virtue of her blood connection to the Russian royal family, as well as her not inconsiderable attraction.

Andrea, as she was more commonly known, was the complete opposite to her spouse for she possessed a statuesque beauty, a subtle wit (that was suitable for a woman) and was the quintessential hostess. Her rich and lavish gatherings – funded by her husband, of course – attracted the cream of European society.

The carriage came to a halt before the brightly lit palatial manor; light streaming from it's many windows and Lucius disembarked from the carriage.

Severus was not taking his owls. Every one of Lucius' letters came back unopened and on the last occurrence the owl came back missing several feathers and was partially singed - after that Hermes simply refused to take anymore messages to Severus and the bird's brother, Mercury, followed suit. And when Lucius hired post owl from Diagon Ally, well, he never found out what had occurred, exactly, but the proprietor of the post office had Lucius blacklisted.

Surely, Severus would reconsider this rather hostile silence and contact him soon? Lucius simply refused to believe otherwise – for no one could be that belligerent. Granted, Severus could be ridiculously stubborn on all manner of matters but he would not distance himself from Lucius for long. They had too much history together, for them, to be torn asunder due to a marriage of convenience.

The blond locked these thoughts in the back of his mind as he ascended the sprawling anterior marble staircase of the golden-lit Manor– his dark green cloak trailed stairs behind him. In the vast, oval entrance hall he untied his cloak revealing robes, which were cut velvet, embroidered with hundreds of hand stitched peacock feathers. It was cut away at the middle to display a waistcoat of decadent deep blue silk with silver buttons – matching the feather-shaped cufflinks at his wrist.

Lucius handed the cloak to a welcoming house elf, which was dressed in a golden thread pillowcase. He dismissed the creature curtly – this was not the first time he had been to this function and he was happy to be rid of the annoying, obsequious guide.

Lucius strolled underneath the arch of grand double staircase as he made way to the ballroom.

While passing the many branching off corridors he could see other house elves hurrying in and out of the supper rooms, laying linen, crystal and silver for the dinning that would take place later in the evening. Lucius was meeting with his contact then – one of many in his network of spies. Well, Lucius wouldn't be meeting them, per se, rather he would find the spelled sealed report attached to the underneath of his dining chair. Thus, Lucius would have to mingle with the guests until the formal banquet, then he could give a justification of an ill stomach to be excused from the meal if the conversation was utter drivel and too onerous to bear – as usual.

He strode through the open gold leaf embossed oak doors that had intricately carved roses and thorns upon them, into the Spiral Ballroom, named for the spelled pattern of the polished rosewood and mahogany floor. He noticed his announcement to the room only in passing as he gazed about the milling crowd – observing them dispassionately. The dancing would commence when the moon reached its zenith, which would be seen through the round glass ceiling. Meanwhile, the guests wondered to and fro, admiring words exchanged between them – then, subsequently they insulted the other from afar. They were conversing with the paintings on the walls, flirting behind fans, consuming canapés, sweet tartlets and wine, and disappearing at more or less discrete intervals into the veiled alcoves. These alcoves consisted of arcs of gold, spelled-silenced, silk draped around the dome of the fifty foot high ceiling in a loose spiral pattern that then fell in a waterfall of cloth that was cleverly fitted into the panelling of the ballroom. Consequently, one could not see, nor hear anything within the covered alcoves.

"Ah, Lyon," Lucius scrutinised the short, rotund figure with quivering jowls and a rapidly receding hairline that was addressing him, _incorrectly_. The man, Baron Eberhart Balor, was host of this illustrious event and was currently surrounded by three people: a tall, skinny man with spectacles, a rather dumpy red-headed woman just an inch away from being a spinster and a grey-haired wizard with a pencil-thin moustache.

The Baron was not a good host, in any respect. Eberhart had been introduced to the blond six times and still the Baron did not remember Lucius' name or who he was. Lucius had given up correcting him after three failed attempts. Lucius privately believed that his wife, Andrea, had addled his brains with a mind-altering potion secreted in his drink of choice, port. At least that might exonerate him for being such a terrible bore and his appalling appearance, as he covered up his thinning hair with a wig that was a trifle too big so it tended to slide forwards when he nodded.

"Baron Eberhart," Lucius swiftly bowed and Balor clumsily followed. The wig slipped over the man's brow and he surreptitiously pushed it back with a portly hand as his companions studiously ignored the obvious action.

Over the Baron's beefy shoulder Lucius saw Andrea mingling quite a distance away, she was dressed implacably and her apparel reflected the colour of the flowing silk on the walls and ceiling.

"This is a very pleasant evening, is it not?" Balor asked Lucius and his three flatterers, which Eberhart had failed to introduce. The men murmured their agreement and the woman simpered hers.

"Indeed, it is." The Baron answered himself. He did not require conversation only appreciation.

"If you would excuse me–" Lucius tried to say.

"Of course, Luis," Balor interrupted waving his hand. "No doubt some young filly has attracted Lyle's eye, eh?" He said to his hangers on, and nudged the spectacled man nearly knocking him over.

"Go on, Luther, be off with you." Balor roughly dismissed him, turned away and caught sight of his wife.

Lucius calmly, but quickly retreated from the four lest the Baron change his mind.

When Balor advanced in Andrea's direction, she missed the action – either by luck or design – and glided further away from him while fluttering her sphalerite yellow fan, causing the Baron to abruptly halt, lest he be seen chasing after his wife and turned blustering back, embarrassed, to his summarily dismissed companions.

Lucius watched while Andrea passed a petite woman with cinnamon skin, one Mariella Zabini, as the Baroness wandered away to mingle in the corner furthest away from her husband Eberhart.

Mariella Zabini was the daughter of a rich Italian Lord, but a bastard all the same. Though she was beautiful, charming and exotic, but that was to be expected, as she was a cambion: offspring of the succubi.

Her mother was a Bruxas that had acted as essentially a high-class prostitute, more precisely a courtesan for the Spanish royal court. The creature had seduced Mariella's father, Lord Monaciello Moretti Zabini, while he was visiting the country.

The Bruxas are a form of succubi that can reproduce in the same manner as seahorses. The creature had implanted the result of their union inside of Monaciello, while he was sleeping. She had not informed the father of her status, so it must of come as quite a shock to discover the existence of the child via a letter, left upon the pillow, in the morning. When Monaciello returned home he confined himself for the ensuing months. His physical and mental freedom had been vastly restricted until he gave birth some months later. Actually, the little cambion had clawed its why out of her father's abdomen using her wicked sharp fingernails and teeth.

Apparently, the man had turned to drink after the whole ordeal; Lucius couldn't blame him.

One of Lucius' contacts had informed him that the succubus was now in Brazil enjoying the delights of Portuguese Royal court.

Mariella spotted him from across the room and sinuously sauntered towards him; her hair was arranged in dark shiny ringlets, that lightly bounced as she walked, a contrast to her naturally poker straight hair.

She was dressed in a sleeveless gown – the colour so vivid it appeared to be blood-soaked. Lucius glanced over her head half-expecting to see red stained footsteps behind her, but the polished floor remained untainted by her passing.

"It is wonderful to see you again, Lord Malfoy." Her dark eyes flashed up at him alluringly. Her sharp, delicate features were arranged in a welcoming smile, displaying her white, even teeth and red-ruby lips. Clasped in one of her dainty, ivory-gloved hands was a closed crimson fan.

She lifted her unoccupied hand and Lucius kissed the back of it while suppressing his distaste at the oily texture of her magic oozing through starched feel of the glove. Lucius thanked Severus in his head, as it was a potion of his design that counteracted against the oleaginous succubi allure. Lucius had taken a dose earlier in the evening in preparation for the night ahead.

"I feel the same of you, Signorina Mariella," He replied and released her hand.

There was a moment of disquiet about her mouth at the use of her given name and lack of title, but she covered it adequately by a quick flutter of her fan. "You simply must join our little discussion on the effectiveness of the ICW," she tilted her head like a bird eyeing a stray worm as she looked across the room. "You'll offer a welcome alternative to the current mode of thinking, I'm sure," she said musingly while flicking her eyes at him then gazing at the paunch middle-aged men and somewhat dim-witted fools that made up the majority of her admiring circle – seated around one of the many tables that were scattered throughout the edges of the room where people played chess, cards, or simply talked.

"Perhaps a little later, I am inclined for more frivolous pursuits this early in the evening than a debate on the International Confederation of Wizards," Lucius apologised.

"Well don't be for long, for I am not a patient woman," she said merrily, but there was a hardness about her eyes and smile as she curtsied in response to his bow and lightly sashayed away back to her table of devotees.

Where the witch would no doubt be plied with wine and an endless procession of flowery compliments until finally offered a marriage proposal by one of her suffering sycophants, which was her goal on such evenings as these as she was newly widowed for the third time.

Mariella observed the extreme form of modern independence where she would keep her maiden name when she married. Lucius thought it was a ludicrous concept. Though Lucius supposed she would have to give her name to the children that she bears, as it would be highly unlikely the father would be there to take part for the naming ceremony. That's if she waits long enough for conception to ever take place. Succubi were known to be a fickle, bloodthirsty sort. And Mariella was no different.

Lucius thoughts digressed as he heard the soft flowing vowels of the French ambassador from the centre of a clustered group. Monsieur Bertrand Delacour was a foppish fool, a bureaucratic clown with delusions of grandeur. He looked his usual imbecilic self: from the powered head of thick hair, face painted white with a star-shaped beauty spot, brocaded apparel of pink and white – right down to his shiny silver-bow buckled shoes. Lucius had spoken to ambassador for the first and last time at the previous gathering, where Delacour had mocked the Englishman for being a 'naïf dandy'.

A man on the outskirts of the group nodded to Lucius as he passed. Lucius he ignored the gesture and made his way to one of the refreshment alcoves. It seemed Mr. Cartwright might have to be replaced, to make such a blunder as that.

Lucius entered the alcove, the gold silk was tied back creating an arch overhead, and selected one of the red wines. Lucius took a moment to relish the small flare of heat, as he swallowed a sip of the spiced wine. Lucius turned his back on the table and renewed his study of the guests; the ambient noise of the crowd was muffled inside the pocket of space.

The alcove was empty except for Lucius and a lone witch wearing glasses. Lucius' perusal of her was diverted away by another woman whom seemed to have no compunction for propriety as she dashed across the room in his direction, as fast as her draperies would allow; her plain face alight with animation.

"Sister!" she loudly exclaimed.

Lucius raised an eyebrow.

The woman next to Lucius turned round at the shout, and Lucius saw that they were almost the mirror image of each other.

Thin and plain, they both had a skinny angular face with thick eyebrows, dull dishwater blond hair and lash-less, protruding pale blue eyes. Lucius could tell them apart for one wore large glasses that, unfortunately, greatly emphasised her bug-eyed appearance.

Lucius placed his glass back onto the table, ignoring it, as it disappeared, his sole focus was on the sisters, whom in turn completely ignored him.

The woman was childishly demanding her bespectacled sister's attention with a stomping foot, but was refused in favour of the food and drink – sherry, mainly. They rapidly gestured back and forth with a reckless energy, but their mouths were the most animated part of them, as they argued.

These were the Trelawney twins, great-grand daughters of the Seer Cassandra and they were the biggest gossips in all of Wizardom.

One sister could actually _see_ events in a person's past. She was a clairvoyant. It was unclear which one had the talent as they always told the same version of events. They must discuss it before hand and planned what to say down to the very last detail. Mariella's conception had become common knowledge through their tactless and callous remarks, spewed from them with nigh abandon, illustrating their petty and perverted attitudes that contributed, further, to their wanting looks.

Lucius deftly gazed after them as the woman started dragging her bespectacled sister away to a vacant alcove, while furiously whispering in the other's ear. Lucius not make out the words, only a few syllables in places.

Those sisters had the potential to damage reputations of even those with the highest standing in society and ruin their lives; no one could be immune.

Lucius stilled for a moment. Then, subtly, he slipped his hand into the pocket of his robes and gripped his wand tightly – casting a non-verbal notice-me-not and a disillusionment charm in quick succession then briskly followed the retreating witches.

Lucius was also thinking for his Lord, of course, and not just himself, as he followed the women. The Dark Lord had a fascination about divining the future that was unparalleled, and Lucius hoped to gain his favour after the failure of his task. Lucius could learn of the sisters' talents (if, indeed they had any) and it might shed light on the mystery of oracle magic.

Lucius pulled back the silk and slipped into the alcove and noted it was furnished with a fainting couch, a thick rug carpeting the floor, a small table – one sheer socking lay puddled beneath it, and two chairs, which were more suitable for laying aside various clothing than sitting on.

Nevertheless, the sisters perched upon the chairs and one cast a brief look of distaste, wrinkling her nose, at the chaise-lounge before looking away.

"What was that?" The bespectacled sister said as the silk shifted back in place.

"Only a draught," said the other, forgetting her concern over the couch, pulled her wand from her sleeve, and without looking – shot off a sticking charm at the silk veil gluing it to the walls and floor; the spell narrowly missed Lucius who deftly ducked out of the way. "Never mind that, Sybil, I have something to tell you!"

"What is it, Theodora?" Sybil said petulantly as her stomach grumbled – she hadn't had a chance to eat anything substantial, yet, just a tiny decorative glass-full of sherry sorbet and she longed to be back at the food table.

"Well, if you have that _attitude_ I won't tell you, in fact, I may never tell you anything I've _seen,_ ever again." Theodora replied tartly.

"No, I'm sorry Theodora," Sybil was quick to apologise, she couldn't imagine being bereft of the gossip her sister's gift provided.

"…"

"Theodora, please! Please tell me."

"Alright," Theodora replied, somewhat mollified by her sister's begging. In hidden corner of the room, Lucius rolled his eyes in disgust.

"I have seen something awful that has occurred," Theodora continued.

"What?" Sybil said eagerly.

"A great scandal that must be hushed," Theodora taunted.

"What, don't leave in suspense, sister," Sybil said fervently.

"A man forced his attentions on an unmarried daughter of a prominent family."

Sybil gasp and said in a rushed voice, "You mean she was-"

"Yes." Theodora interrupted. "He ravaged the poor Rose, or was it Flora? Oh, her name was some kind of flower." She said with a line between her brows and a finger on her lips.

Theodora flicked her fingers in a dismissing gesture. "Anyway, she was one of three pretty sisters." She continued in a story-telling way.

"Obviously she was something special," Sybil cut in.

"Aye, but not anymore! She's been plucked!" Theodora spoke in mirth, mimed picking petal off a flower and both were tittering in obnoxious giggles.

Lucius glared at the sisters in righteous revulsion. He shook his head in pity as he reflected on the damned woman. The loss of virtue would be the cause of her endless ruin; her good standing in the eyes of society would be irretrievable. When the sisters spread the information her reputation would be in tatters.

The laughter petered off and the questions continued, "But who would do such a wicked deed?" Sybil's voice was filled with glee.

"Her cousin."

"No!" Sybil drew out the vowel.

"Yes!"

"The heir to the family?" Sybil enquired.

"Yes, well not originally. But, he is now, after his eldest brother was disowned."

"Uh, oh I remember that scandal, oh what was his name..? Oh!" Sybil snapped her fingers "Sirius Black, wasn't it?"

"Yes! And now his younger brother has also _sullied _the family!" Theodore cried out and both sisters laughed uproariously at her pun.

Lucius froze; then felt a rush of ice-cold rage. The sisters' chatter coalesced in his mind and he realised the unfortunate woman they were discussing was Narcissa Black. His betrothed.

He had had concerns over family – the scandalous elopement of her oldest sister, Andromeda, with that mudblood some years ago, but this… this was beyond belief.

He was to be wed to a woman whom was raped by her _cousin_. That man, that perfidious reprobate, had compromised not only Narcissa's, but also Lucius' honour by association, this would not be borne; Lucius would have his vengeance. He would lock him in the Manor's dungeon, cut out his eyes and imprison him in a chest of spikes and–

Lucius tirade of blood-thirsty thoughts was cut off once the words he was hearing filtered in "…ora, just whom should we tell first?"

Lucius moved before he realised it, reacting immediately to the threat, hearing the sound of his voice issuing two simple stunners and a easily delivered obliviate that wipe the conversation from Sybil's mind.

Lucius steadied for a moment then turned to the clairvoyant whom was slumped in her chair. He pried open eyelids with a spell and rooted through her memories, searching. The image Lucius glimpsed of Regulus pressed tight against Narcissa on the ground, his hands holding down her wrists obliterated Lucius' faculties, he felt the magic burning in his veins and the anger in his throat. When he came back to himself Theodora had blood on her neck and face that was rolling down from her ears, eyes, nose and mouth.

Classic signs of mental damage Lucius mind cooly supplied as his body shook as he panted. Fumbling he grasped the dangling wrist of the bloodied girl. Her chest rose and fell and the blood bubbled around her lips. He quickly vanished the blood and pressed his wand against her throat. Pulling her wrist, her head lolling on her shoulder, he manipulating her hand and rapped her knuckles on the low table.

The wand pressed down, "Sherry" the thin voice issued from Theodora's lips.

A bottle appeared.

Tapping his wand against the glass neck to open the bottle. He then vanished a quarter of the contents and then banished a quarter into Sybil's stomach and did the same to Theodora.

Stepping out of the way he tipped up the bottle so the remaining alcohol splashed across the table and spilled to the floor, soaking the carpet beneath Theodora's feet. Soon the room would positively reek of the sickly sweet liquor.

He applied a charm to the alcoves' silk veil that would dispel the sticking charm on for a 30 seconds.

He waved his wand, wiping his magical signature from the room a remarkable technique he learned from his Lord.

He slipped from the alcove and it resealed after him. Music was filling the ballroom, the sound of the violin, flute and cello; the musicians were situated on a recently transfigured platform the other side of the ballroom. Lucius' hands were shaking; he hid them in the folds of his robes and slowly phased out the disillusionment charm as he walked away.

Lucius jaw ticked and he bit down hard on the inside of his lip and smoothed out his face as skirted around the dancers in the middle of the ballroom and exited through the glass panelled doors leading out onto the marble floored veranda and cancelled the notice-me-not spell.

Before him stood a gold Grecian nymph – her feet and ankles were submerged in the shallow circular pool. From an urn balanced on her shoulder she poured water that fell splashing around her calves. The moonlight glittered and danced across the water and gold.

He went around the gold fountain and passed low white padded benches, stone sculpted end tables, potted fine silver-leaf trees with delicate white and caramel blossoms that smelled of cinnamon to reach the balcony balustrade.

The coldness from the marble ledge seeped into his palms and his knuckles flared white. He stared unseeingly at the view below as he breathed deeply in the night air. The grandiose garden was lit with fluttering fairies trapped inside glass lanterns that lined the winding stone paths.

Lucius hissed and made an abortive movement to grab his left forearm: the skin was burning. Damn.

"Lord Malfoy?"

Lucius straightened his spine and turned.

It was as if the maiden of the fountain had come alive. Andrea stood before him with Grecian gold curls tumbling down her shoulders and gold silk was draped across her body, which shimmered in the moonlight.

"Lady Eberhart," He bowed; the sound of babbling water competed with his quiet tone.

"I trust you are well?"

"As well as can be expected. Unfortunately, however, I will be unable to attend your sumptuous banquet this evening." _Cancel the report._

"That is unfortunate indeed. But, no matter, I will alter the seating arrangements accordingly." _Message received and understood, Sir. _She smoothly curtsied and he bowed to her as she walked away.

Lucius' spying on the side, for his own personal gain, wasn't strictly against his Lord's orders but neither was it sanctioned (because his Lord didn't know about it), the stinging pain increased as if in reaction to his thoughts.

Lucius loitered for a minute, allowing for distance between himself and his hostess, before he carefully schooled his expression and made his way back inside. Passing the open glass panelled doors, the tempo of the music had changed to include the piano, Lucius walked along the edge of the ballroom and nearly bumped into the Baron.

"Forgive me, Sir." Lucius bowed and gritted his teeth and refrained from clenching the hand of his stinging arm into a fist.

Baron Eberhart had seemingly ditched his other hangers on and replaced him with a short, round man wearing pinstriped purple and lime-green robes with a scarlet tie and a lime-green bowler hat that he carried under one arm.

"Nonsense, Lucius." Balor said.

Lucius blinked and mentally shook his head.

"Ah, allow me to introduce you to my second cousin on my mother's side." Eberhart gestured to his companion whom smiled. Lucius presumed the man's expression was meant to be condescending, yet it looked rather constipated, instead, and accentuated his chubby face.

Lucius could see the family resemblance.

"My boy here," Balor clapped a portly hand unto the man's round shoulder, "is thinking of going into politics," he said in a proud and boastful manner.

"Cornelius Fudge, please to make your acquaintance Lord..?"

"Malfoy." Lucius cut in and shook the man's outstretched hand. Lucius held back from wiping his hand on his robes after the man's clammy and pudgy hand had relinquished it.

"I hope I can count on your vote." Fudge said in a confident tone, but his fingers fidgeted and lightly played along the edge of the bowler's trim.

"Of course," Lucius nodded to both men as pain radiated up his arm. "Now if you would excuse me, I must retire for the evening. I am a little under the weather."

"Why you and your delicate constitution, are you sure it's not suffering from the pox or the clap?" The Baron questioned.

Fudge flushed and blustered.

The Baron ignored his relation and continued, "If so, I am sure I have a tincture, around here somewhere, that will clear those right up."

"I am afraid it is just a minor stomach upset." Lucius said smoothly as the pain spiked.

"Ah, well, come along, my boy. Don't let us keep you." Eberhart nodded to Lucius and the blond curtly bowed to their retreating backs and exited the ballroom. Lucius passed Andrea as she walked out of the main supper room, one hand within the folds of her gown, while the other was on display bearing a slight smudge of soot as if she had recently burned something. He heard her quickly whisper; "Turgeo," and the mark vanished.

Lucius accepted his dark green cloak from the house elf and stalked across the oval floor and down the grand anterior stairs. When he reached the bottom he turned sharply and ducked beneath the staircase, while surreptitiously darted his glance around, before apparating to his Lord.

Lucius smiled cruelly as he felt his surroundings darken and vanish as his body hurtled through space. Regulus had been brought into the Death Eater fold. And not even the Dark Lord could stand between Lucius and his revenge.


End file.
